Authors: Aris Whittier
“They’re not the same,”
she reprimanded firmly. “I raised you better than that. You
know the difference.”
“There is no difference. If you
have one, you have the other.”
“I hate to hear you talk like
that.”
“It’s the truth.”
He’d given up on happiness after Samantha had walked out.
“You don’t believe that.”
He nodded and winked. “I know
I’ll be both when you get better.”
She eyed his damp hair and clothes.
“Did you go for a run?”
“You could say that.”
She patted his hand in understanding.
“I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to have
Samantha there with me. I couldn’t have done it without her.
She was so supportive and comforting.” She smiled. “You
should have seen her take care of everything. She was amazing.”
“I’m sure she was.”
“She has this remarkable ability
to calm me with just the touch of her hand.” She shook her
head. “I don’t know how she does it.”
James knew exactly what she meant.
“Have you eaten?”
“A little after I got home.
Samantha fixed me some broth. It was the only thing I could tolerate.
I don’t have much of an appetite anyway. What about you?”
“I grabbed a bite on the way
home. You must be exhausted; it’s very late.” He moved to
the door. “I’ll let you get some rest.”
“No, please stay,” she said
quickly. “Let’s watch an old movie.” She flipped
back the covers and fluffed the pillow next to her. “Like we
used to.”
James sensed that she didn’t want
to be alone, and the truth be known, he didn’t want to leave
her just yet. He kicked off his shoes. “I’m probably
sweaty and stinky.”
“Mothers are supposed to overlook
that stuff.”
“We haven’t done this since
I was ten.” He slid into the bed next to her. The cool sheets
smelled like her. They were reminiscent of days gone by. Bits and
pieces of his childhood flashed before him. He shifted around, trying
several positions.
“You know this was much easier
when I was half the size.”
She aimed the remote at the television.
“What sounds good?”
“I don’t care. You pick.”
Once Marie had fallen asleep, James
slipped out of bed to take a much-needed hot shower. The scalding
water had relaxed him enough so he could work on a presentation that
was due the following day. As he entered his office he unconsciously
turned on his laptop, checked the faxes, and scanned through the
numbers in his pager.
Moving to his desk, he sat and viewed
the room, which was slightly more disorganized than he would have
liked. He had once made it a rule not to bring work home from the
office, but that had changed when Samantha had left him. There was no
longer a reason not to bring it home. Besides, he had to fill his
evenings up with something. You could only drink and go out on
meaningless dates for so long. He had tired of that quickly.
Samantha was the only one he’d
ever wanted. There was no point in trying to fill what could never be
filled. He was a realistic man. Replacement could never be obtained,
so why bother? During the first few months she’d been gone he
had found that if he submerged himself in his work he became numb.
When he was numb it didn’t hurt
and that was a relief to him.
Right now, he didn’t want to
feel. So his intention for the next few hours was to immerse himself
in work—that way perhaps he would forget the gruesome sounds of
his mom being sick and forget the fact that Samantha living with him
again made him want her more than he had ever wanted her before.
For over an hour James squinted as he
stared at the glowing screen of his laptop. Typing words at a
proficient speed, he’d managed to get caught up on several
reports and tie up loose ends that had been all but forgotten over
the last few weeks. After transferring several reports to a CD, he
placed the disk in its hard plastic case and then tossed it into his
briefcase.
He shook his head as he dove into
another stack of folders piled on his desk. Thankfully, the pile
dwindled quickly. The last file caused him trouble—it was
missing several pages. He flipped through a mound of papers to his
left. Not finding what he needed, he cursed and tried looking in
another stack. He tossed that bunch aside, retrieved his briefcase
from the floor, and rummaged around the narrow compartments. He blew
out a long breath. What he really needed was Shelly to come and
organize this dump.
“Pulling an all-nighter?”
James looked up and rubbed his hand
over his face when he heard her voice. “I didn’t hear you
come in.”
“You look deeply involved.”
“I’m trying to catch up,”
he said as he shuffled through more papers.
“It looks like you’re
trying to find something.” Samantha motioned to the papers on
his desk. “Lose something?”
“No, just misplaced it.”
Her lips twitched, suppressing a smile
at his serious statement. “Nothing is ever lost, only
misplaced.”
“Exactly.”
She moved into the room. His spacious
home office was awash in valuable piles of papers and projects. “You
always did work too hard.”
The papers in his hand went still as
his eyes met hers. He held the beautiful blue for a moment before
speaking. “Not always.”
Samantha didn’t look away nor did
she argue with his words. Instead she watched him closely, with her
lips pursed thoughtfully.
James lifted his hand. “See,
found it.” He swiveled in the chair and looked down at the
computer screen. As his fingers skimmed over the keys, he spoke.
“There was a time when something else came first. There was a
time when work was the farthest thing from my mind when I got home.”
“Things—”
“Yes, I know. Things change. Even
when we don’t want them to.” Contempt crept into his eyes
as he glanced at her, then he looked back down at the screen and
began to type.
“Wearing glasses would help you
with that squinting problem.”
“I don’t have a squinting
problem.”
“You can barely see the words on
the screen.”
“I can see perfectly fine. I
don’t need glasses,” he replied evenly.
“That’s what you said a
year ago, too,” she reminded him.
Deliberately he allowed his eyes to
relax. “I didn’t need them then, and I don’t need
them now.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She leaned across the desk and peered down at him. She waited for him
to look at her before she spoke. “You do know that wearing
glasses doesn’t make you a nerd.”
“That doesn’t concern me
because I’m not getting glasses.”
Samantha laughed. “Yes, heaven
forbid James Taylor wear glasses. That might knock you off the
top-ten list of CEOs.” She was quiet for a moment. “You
know that’s what this is all about. You’re worried about
what people would say.”
Peering up he said, “You know I
don’t give a damn what people say.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
She cast him a serious glance. “Squinting damages nerves, which
can lead to headaches—”
“Did this little lecture work a
year ago?” he challenged.
She shook her head. “But I
thought you might have come to your senses by now.”
James reached for a paper coming out of
the printer. Using a paperclip, he attached it to the front of a
folder. “Did you come to give me a bad time about my working
habits and my lack of vision or is there a reason why you’re
here?”
Raising her arm, she glanced at her
watch and asked, “When was the last time you took a break?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what I thought.”
“Long hours are the mainstay of
my profession.”
“Do you know that long hours are
linked to heart attacks?” She thought for a moment. “I
read a recent study that said people who work for more than sixty
hours a week and miss out on sleep are far more likely to have a
heart attack.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And the combination of the
two could raise blood pressure and heart rate and trigger an attack.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She smiled sweetly. “You do now.”
“Trust me, it isn’t the
long hours that are going to raise my heart rate and cause me to have
a heart attack.” There was irritation in his tone.
“An average night’s sleep—”
“Samantha.” Her name came
out in a growl.
She raised her hands in the air.
“You’re right. If you want to squint for the rest of your
life and risk having a massive heart attack, then so be it.”
She turned. “I went grocery shopping. Come help me unload the
car.”
* * * * *
James stood back and looked at the
trunk of her car, which was filled with brown paper bags. “Leave
anything at the store?”
“You had no food in the house.
All I could find for lunch today was a can of broth.” She
lifted two heavy bags and handed them to James. “To keep your
mom’s strength up she’s going to need far more than that.
Good nutrition is an important part of this battle.”
James lifted the bags from her arms.
“Yes, I know, mind over matter, positive thoughts, healthy
food, spiritually strong.” He looked over his shoulder at her
as he walked into the house. “Does the actual medicine the
doctors are giving her play any type of role in making her better?”
Samantha shook her head as she followed
him. “You’re not that naïve, James. You know it’s
a combination of everything.” They made several trips from the
car to the kitchen and once the last bag was brought in, they started
to put everything away. James took out numerous strange-looking
vegetables that he didn’t recognize. “I forgot how much
of a health nut you are.”
“I’ll take that as a
compliment.” She grabbed the plastic bags from his hand and
tucked them into the bottom drawer of the refrigerator.
“I’m not eating any of this
stuff,” he said as he pulled out a container of unidentifiable
grain.
“You used to.”
“Not this stuff.” He held
the container high to examine the contents.
She pulled a large bowl from the
cupboard and set an assortment of fruit in it. “Actually, I
fixed you a pilaf made with that stuff and you enjoyed it.” She
set the bowl in the center of the counter and reached for another
bag. “It was when you closed that big deal with the Japanese.
Remember? We ate out on the deck.” She laughed. “It was
so cold—”
He laughed too as he cut in,
remembering the long-ago dinner. “That we turned the heater on
and opened the door so we could feel its warmth.”
“So, you do remember. I don’t
recall you complaining about the food.” She shot him a teasing
glance as she pulled out a carton of eggs and several loaves of
bread. “In fact, I think you liked it so much you asked me to
make it again.”
He hadn’t complained about
anything that night—not even the pilaf made with strange grain,
because the entire evening had been amazingly perfect. He had walked
through the door and had been immediately met by Samantha in a little
black dress, which had been sinfully short. She had wrapped her arms
around his neck, placed a kiss against his lips, and congratulated
him for several minutes before she had taken him by the hand and led
him outside.
She had fixed a tasty dinner, complete
with appetizers, wine, dessert, and coffee. The deck had been
transformed into a romantic haven with dozens of lit candles and
flowers. Halfway through the meal the temperature had dropped and the
breeze had turned cold. They had moved the table in the path of the
door to obtain the maximum amount of heat. The candles, which had
been lit to set the mood, were used for warmth.
Samantha took the grain from him. “I
think that must have been the coldest night in the history of
Southern California.” She came out of the pantry wrinkling her
nose. “Why didn’t we just come inside where it was warm?
Dinner would have been just as good inside. I could have set
something up in front of the fire.”
James shook off the vision of Samantha
shivering in warm candlelight before he spoke. “Because we were
crazy.” His voice lowered. “Besides, it didn’t stay
cold for long. Or at least you didn’t look cold wrapped in my
goose-down comforter on the chaise lounge.” His eyes found her.
“Now, that was crazy. Why were we on a three-foot-wide lounge,
when we could have been making love on a six-foot bed?”
Samantha fumbled with the three cans
she held, before one of them fell to the floor. The loud noise caused
her to jump.
James watched her as she bent to
retrieve the cans. He moved behind her and gently placed his hands on
her shoulders as she stood. She became immobile. “Do you ever
get crazy anymore?” He turned her and guided her to the window.
Reaching over her and pulling back the curtain, he spoke softly
against her ear. “It was that lounge, right there.” His
finger tapped on the window. “I can tell by the broken strap.
Amazing that we fit on it.”
Samantha closed her eyes.
“Open your eyes and look at it,”
James whispered.
Her eyes slowly opened.
He knew the instant she looked at the
lounge, because her body responded with a shiver as the episode
flooded her memory. “Sometimes I look out this window and I see
that broken strap and all I see is you. Do you remember which one of
us broke it?”
Samantha shook her head.
“Me either. But when we made love
we never noticed anything other than each other.” He turned her
around, took the cans from her hands, and set them on the counter.
“Do you miss it?” Her cheeks were red, but not from
embarrassment; rather, from desire. He knew what she was
experiencing. He had brought her there too many times not to
recognize that she was almost there now.
“Miss what?” she asked in a
serious voice.
His arm enclosed her small waist,
pulling her closer to him.
“Do you miss the type of desire
that makes two people make love in freezing weather on a lounge
chair?” He tucked her hair out of her eyes. “Do you miss
the uncontrollable hunger that accompanies that type of desire?”
He felt her quiver against his body.